Something Wicked This Way Comes
by Fluff Nugget
Summary: Y'lara, an Altmer, finds herself in Skyrim in the midst of a civil war between the Imperials and the Stormcloaks. But they are the least of her problems as she struggles with a task ordered of her and emotions for a man she cannot hope to love - HadvarxDB
1. The Escape

__**Chapter One**

_An Escort**  
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><p><strong><em>Hello all~! Yes, another Skyrim fic. Thanks for stumbling onto it, by the way.<em>**

**_What can I say, I'm on winter break! Anyways, this will serve as my foreword. Please note the rating is M. This is due to language, violence, and sexual situations that will appear in this story. Any chapter that is marked with three asterisks in the chapter heading (***) will indicate explicit sexual content for that chapter._**

**I hope you all enjoy! **

**~ Fluff**

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><p><em>A High Elf? Captured with a band of Stormcloaks? Surely not. The Aldmeri Dominion worked with the Empire in Skyrim. Hadvar did not at all agree with their banning the worship of Talos or many other actions the Dominions had taken, but he knew the Empire was the only thing keeping the elves out of Skyrim. Evens so, surely one of their numbers would not ally themselves with the preposterous, racist rebels, would they? The Stormcloaks were known to brutalize elves on sight, particularly if they were of the Altmer variety.<em>

"_You," he said, drawing her strange orange eyes to him. "Who are you?"_

"_My name is Y'lara, sir," she stated politely enough, though the tone hardly touched her gaze._

_Hadvar grimaced, "You picked a poor time to visit Skyrim, friend." He pitied this woman, this elf. She stood tall and strong, shoulders squared, arms limp and docile, even in binds, and her eyes wide, shining, and alert. Perhaps he imagined it – being full of Nord pride as he was – but for all her proud stature, she seemed truly and totally frightened. Not that he could blame her. She was at a chopping block, after all._

_She cast him a look fit to freeze a volcano. "Sir, we are hardly friends," she stated, her tone deceitfully diplomatic._

_He took a step back, despite himself and hurriedly glanced back to his parchment full of names and places. "Captain, she's not on the list."_

"_I don't care!" The Captain snarled. "She goes with the rest."_

_Hadvar returned an apologetic gaze to Y'lara. "I'm sorry, prisoner. I'll make sure your remains are sent back to your homeland."_

"_I thank you for your kindness," she stated with a nod, dipping her head and easing the frigid look in her gaze. "It is good to see that some decent humans remain." This last bit was directed toward the Captain._

_The woman raised her hand and struck a harsh blow across Y'lara's face. "You've some nerve being smart with me, elf! You'll die first!"_

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><p>Hadvar still could not believe the chaos that had unfolded that day at Helgen. The dragon, the escape of Ulfric Stormcloak, the severe blow the Legion had taken. It was still shocking to think that he and the prisoner – er…Y'lara were the only survivors (at least that he knew of). He had lead her to Riverwood, introduced her to his family until such a time as they recouperated from their travels.<p>

His uncle, Alvor, had been hesitant around an Altmer, which was not surprising in the least considering the elves' history with the Nords, but softened his guard – if only a little – when Y'lara used her magic to ease Hadvar's burns and wounds.

"You're a mage, then?" Hadvar inquired, feeling rather awkward at being positioned on his back with an elf pressing against his muscles and skin to determine what was broken and what needed healing.

Pain flared violently through his arm as she gently gripped his wrist and extended his limb in such a way that, he assumed, would expedited the healing process. "Of course I'm a mage, idiot," she snapped, warmth beginning to radiate from her palm as she spoke a few words of restoration. "I'm an Altmer, aren't I?"

Hadvar was not discouraged. If he were in her position, having nearly been executed by the Legion and stranded in a strange place, he would be terse and callous as well. "So what got you involved with the Stormcloaks?"

She did not answer at first. She simply remained silent, holding her hand over his wound and tilting her brows together slightly as the warmth grew. She did not speak until she'd released his arm and slowly peeled the scalded leather from his lower body. "I'm not involved with the Stormcloaks," she stated simply, her hands surprisingly strong as she clamped down and held him in place while she worked. "And I am no story-teller, Nord."

Hadvar clenched his teeth and resigned himself to the helpful torture she was extending to him.

"Finished," she stated once the final warmth had dissipated from him. "There should be minimal scarring."

Hadvar stood and rotated his arms and put weight on his legs, marveling at his lack of pain when performing the actions. "Thank you," he said, peering at her as she plucked a wedge of cheese and a loaf of bread from the shelves and stuffed it into her pack. "Where are you going?"

She cast a haughty glance over her shoulder. "To Whiterun, like you Aunt asked of me. She's right. Riverwood has no walls. The Jarl needs to know about the dragon."

"You just got here," he argued. "Stay and eat dinner. Rest a bit before you continue. You need it after what you've gone through today." He gave a once-over of her clothing,little more than rags with a hemp rope around her hips to help keep her drawers up. "And you'll be wanting better clothing if you're to be presenting yourself to a Jarl."

Her eyes flashed dangerously. He thought for a moment she was going to undo her healing work and incinerate him with whatever inferno spells she posessed.

"You and your family would accept the company of a High Elf?" She scoffed. "I know my kind's reputation around Skyrim - not that I can really fault you after what the Dominion has done. But news in a town smalls as this travels quickly. With the Stormcloaks so close, would you risk your family's livlihood for frivolous displays of hospitality?"

Hadvar stood and gestured for her to make her way upstairs with his aunt Sigrid. "This is Imperial territory. The Stormcloaks wouldn't dare staging an attack with the Jarl of Whiterun remaining neutral. Besides, my family as me to defend their livelihood." He smiled at her, determined to amend the experience she'd had in Helgen. "I insist you stay for dinner and rest the night. Sigrid has some suitable clothing, I'm sure."

Y'lara frowned, her full lips purshing and her eyes assessing him astutely from head to toe. He simply held his ground, standing straight and tall as though he had returned to morning line-up ind recruit training.

"Very well," she stated, climbing up the stairs.

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><p>Y'lara truly did not understand these Nords and their obsession with honor, bluntness, and tradition. But she held her tongue. Best to keep quiet around these sorts of folk. She already walked precariously on eggshells when traveling about the small towns of Skyrim...best not to question the rationale behind their actions and cause a riot.<p>

Hadvar had indeed surprised her with his kindness and respect. Even in Helgen, he'd gone against his commanding officer's order that she be executed when she'd followed him to Riverwood. The Altmer questioned his intentions behind such actions, as no actions the elves took were ever done out of selflessness. There was always something to be gained. Folk had to watch their speech, their glances, they way she walked. It was not so with the Nords. Here, action spoke loudest and…she rather preferred it that way.

Sigrid gave her new clothing, simple blue robes and knee-high boots for her journey.

"Thank you," Y'lara said after she'd rid herself of her prisoner's attire. "I'll find some way to repay you."

Sigrid gave her a skeptical once over. "You want to repay me? Deliver that message to the Jarl and then begone."

Y'lara was taken aback by her words, simple and straightforward with no offense meant.

"It's a simple matter, elf," Sigrid continued with a shrug, her tone and stature nonchalant, as though she were simply reporting facts rather than personal opinion. "The Nords don't like the elves after the war. You'd best leave for the Aldmeri Dominion before a group of Stormcloak sympathizers brutalize you in the name of Skyrim."

She nodded. "Thank you for the warning, Missus." Y'lara could handle herself. Even if she was of the Dominion she did not plan upon enlisting in the Thalmor ranks. Their supremacist attitudes thoroughly irritated her and, even if they were her own kind, she could not stand them. She had come to Skyrim for a purpose and she was intent on seeing it through. Her scuffle with the Stormcloaks had been an unfortunate event.

Y'lara helped silently with dinner, refraining from using her magicka to speed the heating of the fire or alter the atmosphere such that the pressure gradient changed and the meat cooked faster. The Nords were skeptical about the ways of mages, even if they did particularly enjoy the enchantments that could be placed on weapons.

Hadvar was seeing to Dorthe and regaling her with stories of his explorations in the Imperial Legion when the food was announced and the family sat about their simple wooden table, conversing with Hadvar about the dragon attack on Helgen, the status of Ulfric Stormcloak, and the sights he'd seen while away from home. The Nord man seemed all to happy to report what he'd experienced and Y'lara was grateful for the time to herself. The food was delicious, but she ate sparsely, not wanting to take more than was absolutely necessary. After all, she'd lost all of her funds when the Imperials had stripped her of armor and given her rags.

None of them spoke to her – they were too afraid. An Altmer was sitting in their presence, so foreign and exotic to them. She saw little Dorthe staring intently at her pointed ears, her slanted eyes, and the strange coloration she possessed. She was plain to her own people and blended in easily. Here, such was not the case. She was a golden being among a sea of white and as tall as most of the men.

"Will you be staying the night, Y'lara?" Hadvar inquired as he passed her the bottle of mead.

She accepted it delicately and passed it on to Alvor. "I think not," she replied, gazing at him defiantly. He'd ordered her to rest the night, despite the obvious discomfort she brought to his family. He would find that she could not be commanded so easily. "I will continue to Whiterun and tell the Jarl of the dragon attack. I have business to attend to, afterward."

"Thank you for delivering the message-"

"What sort of business?" Hadvar interrupted his aunt, his pale eyes piercing in their intensity.

"Hadvar," his uncle scolded. "The elf's -…Y'lara's…business is her own."

"I must agree with Mister Alvor," Y'lara stated without looking away from Hadvar's open challenge. "Believe that I will deliver you message and be content in that knowledge."

The young Imperial soldier nodded solemnly before standing from the table. "Well, I'll accompany you to Whiterun, then."

"You'll do what?" Sigird demanded before Y'lara had the opportunity.

Hadvar removed his common tunic and pulled on the attire of the Imperial Legion. "High Elves wandering the landscape of Skyrim are liable to get into trouble," he stated simply. "I'll serve as her escort."

He glanced back at her, his eyes matching the mischievous smile on his lips. Y'lara raised a brow but made no comment. If he wanted to accompany her, she would not stop him. But that did not mean she would make no attempt to break from his company.

"I appreciate that very much," she stated and stood from the table, not needing to clad herself in heavy armors, bracers, or boots. She turned to Alvor and Sigrid. "I thank you for your hospitality."

Dorthe, broken from the reserve she'd been in all evening, spoke suddenly. "Can you show me a spell before you go?"

Y'lara glanced up to Alvor, the head of the house, to ensure permission for the request the child made. Upon seeing his nod, she cast her eyes down to the child and snapped her longest finger against her thumb. Flames ignited in her hand and Y'lara smiled, despite herself, as the child's eyes widened in wonder. After a moment, she closed her open palm into a fist and smothered the flames.

"Ready then, Mage?" Hadvar inquired, sheathing his Imperial blade at his hip.

"Ready indeed," she responded.


	2. A Diversion

**Chapter Two**

_A Diversion_

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><p><em><strong>Hello again everyone! I hope you're enjoying the story so far! Thanks to all of you who have reviewed, favorited, or just plain read the story. I very much appreciate it. :)<strong>_

_**There is a somewhat graphic scene in this chapter – you have been warned.**_

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><p>Hadvar made it a point to keep quiet for the majority of the journey to Whiterun. He'd seen in Y'lara's eyes that she had no interest in him accompanying her to visit the Jarl. Admittedly, his concern for her safety was merely a pretense. He was more curious, than anything, of this strange, golden creature that had thrust herself into the middle of the fray between Stormcloak and Imperial.<p>

Not a word was passed until they reached the stables outside of Whiterun.

"Your duty to me has expired, Soldier," Y'lara stated, her voice frigid as the snow of Winterhold. "I can carry on alone, now."

"I really don't think you can," Hadvar disagreed easily, smirking at her. He knew she was up to _something_. He hardly believed her to be an Aldmeri Dominion agent…but one could never be too careful. He did not trust her, but neither did he doubt she had something of a consciousness."You haven't slept since Helgen. Someone needs to look after you."

He had kept an eye on her the entire time in their travels, eying her hands and lips for the hint of a spell to escape and debilitate him. He was prepared to resist, to somehow silence her before she could shake his presence. But the only spells came in the form of fire bolts hurled at wolves and a cloak of invisibility as they passed by a giant.

"You haven't slept either," she countered soundly, removing the hood from her head and shaking her long golden hair from its confines. "I can take care of myself, fool Nord."

She began to walk and he kept step with her easily. "And you're wrong, stupid Elf," he retorted, earning a searing glance from her fire-orange eyes. "My duty to you does not expire until you speak with the Jarl."

She sneered, "Don't trust me to deliver the message of your doomed home?"

That stung, but he brushed it off. Riverwood was not doomed. He would make damn sure it was not. "In a manner of speaking, no, I don't trust you," he answered easily enough, a smile of challenge on his lips.

"I have no interest in doing harm to you or yours," she informed him bluntly. "In not speaking to the Jarl, I would neglect to return the favor imposed upon me by your aunt. I will speak to Balgruuf You have my word. Now, we are to the city gates. Please leave."

Hadvar only turned toward the approaching guard and squared his shoulders, doing his best to appear large and intimidating. Not that Y'lara couldn't do that herself – she stood almost a head taller than the guard.

"City's closed with the recent dragon attacks," the soldier informed her gruffly. "Gate's locked."

"I bring news of the dragon attack," Y'lara stated smoothly.

One of the other guards guffawed rudely. "'ear that! She brings news o' the dragon attacks! A damned Altmer! What tricks are you pullin'? We'll not let one of _your_ kind into the city."

Hadvar spoke loudly as Y'lara was opening her mouth to retort. "By order of the Imperial Legion, open the gates! This woman is a messenger and nothing more. We will be gone from your city once the message of the dragon attack on Helgen has reached the Jarl."

The guards turned to look at him and remained quiet among themselves for a bit. Finally, one muttered, "So the rumors are true then. Open the gates, Rulf!"

The great wooden barriers began to swing open and the guard returned to addressing Y'lara. "We'll be keeping an eye on you, Outsider."

Y'lara nodded and stepped forward silently into the city of Whiterun. Hadvar had to practically run to keep up with her lithe agility.

In the darkness of the night, the city slept. Not a soul wandered the streets save the occasional guard. All remained indoors asleep. Hadvar gestured up to the great structure on a large hill overlooking the city. "That's Dragon's Reach. They say it was built to house one of those fierce reptiles back during the Dragon Wars and one of the High Kings had one as a pet-"

"I don't care for the lore of this city," Y'lara spat. "I am here for the Jarl, not the culture."

Hadvar tsked. "Sounds like the little elf is grumpy." He smirked, "You know what that means: bed time." He draped an arm over her shoulder and steered her toward the Bannered Mare.

"Don't _touch_ me!" She scathed, gripping his wrist and throwing his arm away from her as though he'd somehow burned her. "I've tolerated your company to this point, but my patience wears thin. Do _not_ trifle with me, Nord."

Hadvar folded his arms over his chest and raised a brow. She hadn't attempted anything because, no doubt, she was aware of him watching her and keeping an eye out for disabling spells. But he voiced a difference challenge. "You're going to see the Jarl then? At this time of night? They'll have you thrown out on pretense."

Y'lara simply glowered at him, flames burning behind her eyes.

"Come. Get some rest. You can visit the Jarl in the morning. Whatever 'important' business you have to attend to can surely wait."

The two of them simply stood and glowered at one another, each challenging the other. Thankfully, Y'lara brok eye contact first and marched toward the Bannered Mare. Hadvar let out a sign of relief and proceeded to follow the Altmer. He requested their rooms and paid for them, ignoring the muttered curses Y'lara flung his way as he did so. He understood the words, so they couldn't be spells.

The inn keeper stood and led the pair to their rooms, casting cautious glances over her shoulder at Y'lara as she did so. "I hope you find everything to your liking," she stated with a hurried curtsey before she drifted off to her post downstairs.

Hadvar gestured that Y'lara should step into her room first. The elf let out a long breath before doing so. He could see how her jaw clenched in anger, how her brows seemed to be eternally knit into a scowl. She was infuriated with his presence and, perhaps, some demented part of him rather enjoyed irritating her. After all, she was behaving rather ungraciously toward his hospitality to this point.

He retreated into his own quarters and removed his armor, leaving only the red tunic so that he could rest more soundly. He would be keeping his ears sharp, however. He didn't want the pretty little elf leaving her quarters without her escort.

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><p>It was sometime in the wee hours of the morning when Hadvar felt a gossamer touch against his face. Years of Legion training and nights on watch has honed his instincts into a rather dangerous point. Still half-asleep and surprised, he pulled the steel dagger from the hilt at his waist and slashed with an angry snarl at the shadow above him.<p>

The blade met no flesh, but a firm hand gripped his wrist and twisted violently, causing him to drop the dagger onto the bed. There was a small murmur and the dagger was suddenly flung from anywhere near his grasp.

However, beyond disarming him, the shadow did nothing. He hurried to blink into awareness, keen on seeing who the trespasser was.

"You soldiers are ever the predictable type," came a woman's voice from above him.

"Y'lara?" He grumbled, his voice still thick with sleep. He moved to stand and questions readied themselves on his lips: how had she crept into his room without being heard when the bolt was firmly in place? What was she doing here? Why did she feel it necessary to surprise him in the middle of the night?

"Shh," she murmured, pressing a slender finger against his lips.

Where the pad of her finger met his skin, a shocking warmth traveled through his lips to his gut and then to his groin. He was unable to stop the groan of awe and ache that escaped his throat as she coaxed him back onto the bed. She removed her finger and straddled him, resting on his stomach as her nimble fingers began tugging on the ties of his tunic.

"What are you –"

"Shh," she hissed once more, her finger finding his lips again and sending another arch of pleasure through him, causing him to stiffen and grunt with the sudden heat.

She deftly slipped his tunic up and over his head before lowering her lips and placing soft, gossamer kisses against his neck. Her fingers slid down his chest and over his shoulders, each stroke creating more bolts of the painful pleasure through him and to his loins. Hadvar couldn't think, his thoughts began to fog with carnal, lust-filled thoughts of her, thoughts that would normally have never overtaken him. He didn't realize that the throbbing need came from the bolts created in her fingers, forgot that she was a mage. He was reduced to a shivering, twitching mass as he gripped the bed sheets, desperately trying to restrain himself. "Y'lara…please…s-sto-"

Y'lara's hand slid below his breeches and gripped his throbbing member. The touch of her hand to the sensitive part of him made him convulse in ecstasy. He sat up violently and wrapped his arms around her, crushing her against his chest, a final request to halt her actions. But she would have none of it. Her grip tightened on him and she began to slide her hand and fingers along the length of him. He groaned deeply, his thoughts lost on everything except how badly he wanted to claim this woman. His mouth sought hers, to taste her and force some of the searing, wonderful agony onto her.

She deftly avoided his hungry mouth and slipped out from his tight grasp. She pressed a hand to his chest and forced him back down onto the bed, her fingers becoming more eager in their coaxing him. Hadvar did not try and reach for her again. It was all he could do to control the noises that threatened to escape him.

"By Talos-!" came his strangled groan as she began working the tip, the most delicately sensitive part of him, between her fingers, the arcs of need and burning suddenly crashing like waves against every wall or endurance he had. His belly knotted and tensed to try and stem the flow, to prevent the dam from bursting.

It was too much. What she was doing was too impossibly good. His struggles had him drenched in sweat from the strain of containment. But it seemed as though the more he resisted, the worse the urge came to break. And he could not withstand it any longer.

He burst with a loud growl, stuttering against her as the sweet release finally came. He felt the scalding heat of his own fluid against the skin of his chest and stomach, his eyes rolling back as the clouds of bliss dissipated with such quickness as to leave his head spinning and stars in his vision. He searched for her face, an instinct born of having been intimate with women before. Her gaze was cold and impassive as she withdrew her hand from him and wiped his mess callously on his red tunic before tossing the garment at him.

When he moved to catch it, he found that he could not. Every muscle in his body was paralyzed, save for what he was able to do with his eyes.

"Don't worry, it will wear off," she stated as she silently moved away from the bed and slipped her pack over her shoulder.

He simply gazed at her helplessly, unable to voice the demands that were on his tongue.

He didn't seem to need to, however. She anticipated him well enough.

"You brought this on yourself, what with your escorting antics," she stated as a justification. "I'll be heading to Dragon's Reach alone. By the time I'm finished reporting to the Jarl, the spell will wear off. Don't bother trying to find me – it will be a waste of your time."

She glanced to him once more and smirked wickedly, approaching and bending to pat his cheek. "Don't give me that look, little Hadvar. You enjoyed it."

That fact alone made his blood boil. This woman – she knew men all too well. He'd been watching her the entire journey for something like this. How better to paralyze them with a spell than to associate the poison with pleasure and then laugh as they flailed pathetically afterward?

"Thank you for escorting me," she said formally as she opened the door a crack and replaced the lock on the inside. "Now go home and wait for word from your Legion."


	3. The Task

**Chapter Three**

_The Task_

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><p><em><strong>Hello everyone! Thanks to all of you who've been reading this so far, those who've commented and favorite and added it to their alert list. It's all very much appreciated. I apologize for the delayed update. Enjoy!<br>For the record - I've had some pronunciation questions so I thought I'd mention a few:  
>Y'lara: ee-lah-rah<br>Eoghan: oh -wen **_

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><p>Y'lara had successfully delivered the message to the Jarl and left the stifling confines of Whiterun. She'd purchased a few ingredients from the Imperial alchemist before leaving and had made sure to concoct a steady staple of magica potions. One never knew when they would prove useful. She could hardly expect the most threatening beast to cross her path to be a rabbit.<p>

The entire journey was turning out to be frustrating. She'd been close enough to Falkreath upon entering Skyrim. Helgen had only been down the road from the small keep. But the Imperials had taken everything. She'd had to follow Hadvar to retrieve suitable clothing, food, and coin from his uncle's family and her honor had commanded her to see their request presented to the Jarl. Balgruuf's housecarl seemed competent enough – she'd see to it that Farengar and the others got their affairs in order before anything absolutely disastrous happened.

She approached the familiar indent in the cliff side near the frayed edges of the road and saw the subtly glowing mark of Sithis. She grimaced at the sight. It had been a long while since the brotherhood had called upon her. There had been no Listener for centuries and now there was suddenly news of the Night Mother choosing another. Her chapter had ordered her to Skyrim to investigate the matter.

Y'lara entered unhindered, garbed in the sparse clothing Sigrid had let her borrow. In the central chamber, near the spring of water, most of the family was speaking in hushed, worried whispers with furtive glances cast over their shoulders toward the sanctuary chamber, no doubt where the Night Mother stood in her sarcophigus.

"Another Altmer enters the sanctuary." Came a high-pitched, half-crazed voice.

The sound was so rough and jarring that Y'lara started and cringed at the sound. All the family members fell silent. She glowered at the little Imperial man who had called out her presence so raucously, not at all amused by his merry-man costume.

"You must be Y'lara," said a tall, Aldmeri woman clad in black robes.

"And you Gabriella," Y'lara replied, grateful to have something to focus on besides the jester. The woman's appearance, however, was almost as unnerving. None of her kind possessed the blood red eyes this woman did. Not unless they had succumbed to Vampirism.

"Oh yes! Just ignore Cicero! Poor, poor lonely Cicero!" The Imperial screeched, through his arms into the air and stalking away with a muttered. "He knows a thing or two about solitude. No one else can understand. Cicero hopes there will be stabby stabbing soon."

"Welcome, welcome," Gabriella said, pointedly ignoring the strange funny-man. "Come, you must see Astrid and learn of our little mess."

Y'lara and Gabriella floated past the Argonian, Redguard, and Breton who'd been standing hear the pool of water, tall, lithe, and golden in the torchlight of the sanctuary.

"Astrid?" Gabriella spoke as the two elves arrived in a side chamber near the communal dining hall.

"Ah, there she is," a blue-eyed Nord woman spoke, casting a glance to Y'lara. She stood with her hand on her hip, wearing the customary second-skin armor that spoke of her allegiance to the Dark Brotherhood. To her side and slightly behind stood a surprisingly statuesque Bosmer with arms folded over his chest as though greatly displeased with his current predicament.

Astrid's gaze was sharp and astute as it traveled over Y'lara. "You're from the Isles, then?"

"Indeed I am," Y'lara stated with a slight bow to show her submission to the desires of the leader. She did not know what title the Nord desired and so tactfully left one out. "What would you wish of me."

"No need to be so formal…I didn't catch your name."

"Y'lara, mistress," she returned, keeping curious tabs of the wood elf through her peripheral vision. Aldmeri courts had taught her to always appear disinterested. If something caught one's curiosity, one was to observe it passively through reflective surfaces or with the edges of one's vision, careful not to move the pupil.

The Nord nodded with a grunt. "Call me Astrid. Do you know why you're here?"

"I was informed that the Night Mother had chosen a new Listener and was asked to look into the matter on behalf of my sister chapter near Falkreath in Skyrim," she reported simply, as it was the missive that had been given to her.

Astrid gestured to the elf at her side. "This is the proclaimed Listener."

Y'lara did not allow her shock to register to her face and shifted her gaze haughtily to the Bosmer. "Would you care to inform me how this came to be?"

The wood elf pursed his lips. "Hello, Y'lara. Nice to meet you. My name's Eoghan, how was your trip?"

Y'lara frowned slightly to communicate her displeasure.

Eoghan's bright eyes twinkled and a smile came to his brown lips. "Whatever happened to introductions? I thought you Aldmeri folk were the type for long-winded speeches, introductions, and pedigrees."

Y'lara did not flinch. "You are not in the Dominion, cousin. Answer the question." Normally, she looked down on folk, particularly her Bosmer kin both in height and status. This man, however met her eye easily. He was enormous by Wood Elf standards.

Eoghan brushed his shaggy hair behind his ear and exhaled before recounting his little misadventure involving Astrid, Cicero, and the Night Mother's Sarcophagus. Y'lara listened impassively and, strange as the tale sounded, it exuded the essence of truth. The Bosmer certainly seemed sound enough in the mind. His body language spoke of no lies and her instincts pressed her into belief.

When he'd finished his recollection, Gabriella, Astrid, and Eoghan all peered at her hesitantly, awaiting her verdict.

"I believe you," Y'lara stated finally. "Who is the first target? Certainly the Brotherhood is to make a name for themselves before assassinating the emperor."

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><p>Astrid and Eoghan had worked out an assassination plan – the Emperor's cousin at her wedding. Y'lara had no particular thoughts for or against killing the woman and was simply doing as duty dictated.<p>

"You don't seem excited like the others," Eoghan speculated, following her as the council of agents was dismissed.

She noticed how light his feet were on the ground, even in hard-soled boots. Not at all like that clumsy Nord Hadvar. Mara's mercy, she thought she'd go deaf, his footsteps were so loud!

"My kind and sex are noted for their reserve, Bosmer. Surely you'd have learned that from dealing with my kin for so many years," she stated without turning to look at him. She kept him within her sight, though. His nut-brown skin did little to hide him against the gray rocks.

"Hmm, I know more than I let on, Y'lara," he stated with a grin.

She did not rise to the taunting, though it did not seem that she needed to.

"I've been to the courts in the Summerset Isles. I know how politics work," he continued. "I also learned to recognize when someone was watching me without watching me. You seemed particularly interested, miss Altmer. Might I ask why?"

She scoffed, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Don't flatter yourself. I was simply curious as to how you haven't been shot from a tree with your lumbering height."

Eoghan's grin grew wider and he continued to follow her until she was outside the chambers she would share with Gabriella. "I think you're lying."

"Think what you would like," Y'lara returned. "It makes no difference to me."

"I think you find me attractive," Eoghan pressed, eyes sparking.

Y'lara scoffed, "There is a ready and simple cure for what ails you, Bosmer. Ice will suck any life from that arousal of yours."

"Of course. I'll see if I can chisel some off the next words that come from those lips of yours," he returned easily enough as she turned away from him to retreat. He stopped her with his hands on her shoulders and pressed his lips to her ear, words beginning to form on his lips and the rush of his breath moving the curls of her hair around her pointed ear.

Y'lara understood the intent, felt the warmth in his hands and breath and the hunger that belied his subtle movements. She turned and flicked her middle finger against her thumb, sending an arch of sparks at him. "Leave me," she snarled and retreated to her bed.

* * *

><p>Hadvar had recovered from his little ordeal with the Altmer and made his way to the Jarl that afternoon when the last bits of the spell had worn from his skin and mind. He was prepared to inform him of the news, to spite the damn woman and her trickery in escaping him. Upon entering Dragon's Reach, however, he found that the Jarl and his stewards were already viciously making plans to ward off a dragon attack and sending additional support to Riverside to garrison against any potential threat the beast held.<p>

With the matter settled, he grudgingly left the city of Whiterun and began the week-long journey to Solitude to rendezvous with his commanders and receive new orders, seeing as Helgen was destroyed.

Wouldn't it be his luck he was assigned gate duty while the "true guards" of Solitude were permitted leave to attend the Emperor's cousin's wedding. He absolutely abhorred guard duty – send him to cut wood or help the local blacksmith…_anything_that required activity beyond staring at the cobblestone street. He was lethargic leaning against the wall as he was and beginning to descend into asleep until an alarmed shout came from up on the ramparts.

"Seal the gate! Nobody in or out!"

Hadvar started and hurried to do as was ordered, drawing a heavy wood bolt across the stronghold gate and glancing curiously between his fellow guards.

"What's happened? A thief?"

The man who was helping him barricade the wall scoffed. "No. The Emperor's cousin just got crushed by a statue."

Hadvar blinked incredulously. "So we barricade the gates?"

"Yes, stupid Nord!" The Imperial barked. "A calamity like that just doesn't _happen_, particularly not at the bride's own wedding."

Hadvar pressed his lips together. "Murder then."

"Wonderful job, lout!" The man snarled again before drawing his blade.

Commotion erupted around them as guards tore through the streets, searching for something or someone who might be the culprit. Hadvar's gaze kept drifting from the stairs he was to be watching to the ramparts, feeling very ill at ease.

"Pay attention, Hadvar. See the Altmer coming from that fancy clothing store?" The man barked from his side.

Hadvar turned to see the elf the man spoke of, squinting against the bright sun as his fellow guard stepped forward and halted a tall woman clad in a patchwork blue dress.. "Stop. Nobody leaves until the matter's solved."

The elf spoke and he recognized the voice, the lilt of it, the haughty tone as it replied. He kept to the shadows, peering at her, the sense of wrongness still very much present.

"I simply stepped out from the shop when I heard the commotion," Y'lara responded, her brows raised in shock and curiosity. "What's happened?"

"A murder, Altmer," the Imperial responded, his arms folded across his chest threateningly. "Nobody leaves."

Hadvar watched Y'lara glance around at her surroundings fleetingly before returning her eyes to the guard. "Perhaps I can enter the castle, then. Speak to the General."

The Imperial scowled. "And why might you want to do that?"

"I simply thought I might help in any way I could. Surely an Imperial would understand the value magicka might have in a situation like this."

Y'lara's gaze again wandered and, this time, she spotted Hadvar in the shadows. There was brief, almost invisible widening of her gold eyes before her glance returned to the Imperial. Hadvar continued to watch, keep an eye on her lips and her fingers, trying to glimpse the casting of a spell.

"I may be from the Cyrodil, but I'm not blind to the civil war that has cleaved Skyrim surer than any axe, Altmer," the man stated. "Stangers seeking General Tulius's council are suspect. Especially after a murder's just taken place."

Hadvar watched Y'lara raise her fingers subtly at her hip, her gaze deviating from the Imperial briefly to move to the rafters above Hadvar's head. A moment later, a shadow danced across the slight cracks of light that filtered through the wooden planks above him, though he heard no footsteps to speak of. He glanced up hurriedly, casting a panicked glance to Y'lara.

"A murder?" she inquired, her voice lilting and innocent. "Who was killed?" She glanced over the Imperial's shoulder to offer Hadvar a snide, withering gaze.

He got the sense his presence had saved the Imperial's life.

"Let her see General Tulius," Hadvar blurted, suddenly forming his own thoughts to enact vengeance upon the elf.

"What?" The other guard snarled. "You think that's wise with the calamity –"

Hadvar clapped his hand on the Imperial's shoulder in reassurance before peering down at the Aldmeri woman. "If you know anything of the war, Imperial, you know that Tulius fights to protect the Imperium established with the Aldmeri Dominion. The likelihood of her siding with the Stormcloaks seems…" he paused and scowled at her, "_pathetic_."

The only reaction his well-timed pause elicited from her was a slight twitch of her upper lip, as though she were prepared to snarl at him.

"You take her, then," the Imperial snarled. "I'm not risking my livelihood for the sake of a pompous High Elf!"

The Imperial stepped away, leaving Hadvar and Y'lara glowering at each other. Hadvar did not forget the treatment she'd given him at the inn and was rather aggravated that he'd succumbed to the powers of so haughty a person. But, rather that interrogate her upon her actions and promise her retribution, he instead stated, "Thank you for delivering my uncle's message to the Jarl."

Y'lara's brows rose in surprise and Hadvar smirked. It had not been a statement she'd been expecting, certainly. But he had a plan to keep an eye on her so that she did not go about causing more mischief. He did not doubt for one moment that she was the culprit for the murder.

"You needn't thank me, Nord," she replied, lifting her skirts and heading for the city's gate.

"My name's Hadvar," he stated. "Not 'Nord'. And General Tulius is this way."

Y'lara's purposeful steps slowed and halted. He watched from behind as she squared her narrow shoulders and turned to face him. "Yes, of course. Lead the way."


End file.
